Loyalty
by born30
Summary: The trained assassin held her ground as he leaned in, his forehead resting across two bars. "Then why are you here, Ziva?" Frame-Up missing scene; Ziva goes to visit Tony while he's in FBI custody.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing, obvs.  
I wrote this a year ago and shared on Tumblr, but that's not fair to you fine folks here! It came out of a rewatch of season 3. ****I noticed that 3x09 Frame-Up would have been better with a scene between Tony and Ziva while he was locked up. Enjoy!**

…

She should have gone home to her apartment. Showered. Rested. Gibbs was going to work them hard again in the morning.

 _When does he not_ , Ziva wondered. She didn't mind it so much at the moment. This was no ordinary case. One of his own was charged with murder, and the response from the team had been…

Well. It was refreshing. These Americans…they were loyal to each other, their team. In Mossad, loyalty was to country, first and foremost, and everything else was to the success of the mission, regardless of collateral damage.

She was still getting used to it at NCIS.

And she _really_ should have gone home. Except that Gibbs had mentioned how badly his Senior Field Agent was handling the situation, and now her new mini was zipping through darkened D.C. in the wrong direction of home, and she was allowing it.

Visiting hours were long over at the FBI holding facility, but when it was clear she wasn't leaving until her request was granted, the guards chose against waking their superiors and let her in to see Tony.

What a sight it was.

She half-expected him to be asleep at the late hour; she did not expect him to be doing push-ups on the cement floor of his 8x8 cell. The labored, lulling exertion of his body, along with the soft grunts peppering the air, brought to mind their recent undercover assignment as married assassins. The lengths they went to maintain those identities left little mystery between them, at least physically.

On the first evening, Ziva could tell it was Tony's first time, whereas she had been sent on many operations as the wife or girlfriend to another agent's husband or boyfriend. After reaching double-digits, she'd stopped keeping track. But it turned out her current partner was surprisingly…capable of meeting the demands. Definitely top five.

His physique was all she was considering now. The divots in his low back, the squeeze of his ass through his pants (it really was a 5, if he shaved), the clench of muscle under his tanned skin with every plunge and lift, plunge and…

Ziva bit her lip, content to wait him out.

…

Gibbs stopped by earlier in the day with pizza. He got a call from Abby around dinner, but spent the whole time comforting _her_ , instead of the other way around. Wasn't he the one with murder charges stacked against him? Didn't he deserve some comfort right now? Like he could possibly slice off a woman's legs! He wasn't a psychopath. Everyone who knew him knew he was a lover, not a fighter—or a killer, for that matter.

But that was all the outside contact he'd received since this absurd case landed him in the pen. Unless he counted the guards.

The door leading out of the cell block creaked open, followed by footsteps much lighter than the usual boot tread. Tony did a few more push-ups. 96, 97, 98…

"You know, guys, you don't have to keep checking upon me," he grumbled loudly, pausing in hold. "It's not like I have anywhere to go here."

"I was merely admiring your form, Tony."

The special agent whirled, falling back on his ass and whipping his head up to see if the voice matched the unexpected visitor.

What a sight it was.

Ziva wore white well. Maybe it had something to do with that dark, wild mane of hers or her creamy skin…he didn't know for sure. But she was wearing a white, form-fitting sweater as she stood outside his cell, teeth clamped around her bottom lip, watching him like…

Well. Like she was _admiring_ him, just as she'd said.

He fumbled—for words and footing. "What are you—"

"Were you to lower your hips about two centimeters," Ziva assessed, approaching one deliberate step at a time until she reached the bars, "it would increase the effectiveness of each…thrust."

His heavy exhale could have doubled as laughter. She was a walking innuendo—half of them were botched idioms; the other half was deliberate. "You're thinking of checking someone _out_ ," he corrected, "not checking up on them. But since you were, see anything you like?"

To his delight, she indulged him, scanning his bare torso as he struck an exaggerated pose that nearly had _her_ laughing, but she gave a dismissive sniff instead.

"I have seen hotter."

He wilted, gut going lax. "Brutal, Officer David. And while I'm in prison—for shame!"

"This is hardly the worst confinement you could experience. This cell is quite spacious, actually, and clean. It is better conditions than a murderer would receive at Mossad."

" _Alleged_ murderer," Tony amended, his humor evaporating. He grabbed his white undershirt off the cot and wrenched it over his head. "Also, remind me never to kill a Mossad officer."

"You are not a killer."

"Can you tell that to someone who can _get me out of here!_ "

Ziva cringed against his raised volume; he was making sure the guards heard him. He stepped up, matching her on the other side of the bars as she opened her lids, her gaze coming level somewhere below his jaw.

She wasn't that tiny, but he recalled with intimate detail how he was able to roll them over in bed and hide her entire body with his own while they were undercover. As married assassins. Can you say op of a lifetime?

"The team is working on wiping your name," Ziva assured, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. He hoped it wasn't too obvious he was remembering her naked body writhing beneath him…especially not with his blood pressure already pumped up from the exercise.

"It's _clear_ my name." And he shook his head, dispelling the images of her in that less than professional capacity. Wasn't his playboy ways what got him in this position? They absolutely weren't helping to exonerate him. That was up to his teammates now.

Ziva included.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head. "Does Gibbs know you're here?"

"No. He sent us all home."

The trained assassin held her ground as he leaned in, his forehead resting across two bars.

"Then why are you here, Ziva?"

…

Something calculated settled in his eyes, blurring the light green.

Her brown eyes narrowed in response. "You are my partner. I wanted to make sure you were okay." It wasn't a lie. She was not sure he would do the same for her, though, and thus did not know how he would—

"I appreciate it," Tony said, interrupting her doubts. "But be honest, okay? Do _you_ think I'm guilty?"

Ziva blew out a puff of air, waving her hands freely. "I already told you, I—"

"Do you think I chopped off her legs, bit them—" His pearly teeth came together with a _snap_. "Then hid them in the woods and covered it all up...Ziva, do you think I'm capable of that?"

Despite the theatrics, she had known him several months, during which time her ears had tuned to the chord of sincerity in his voice. She detected it now—with traces of worry and desperation, too. He was also looking at her like a puppy; she wasn't sure if she should console him or smack his nose.

She knew what Gibbs would have done.

Ziva compromised, slipping her arm through the bars and palming the side of his face. The skin there was just stubbly and a little sticky with cooling sweat. A raised eyebrow told her the action surprised him, but he made no move away from her touch.

"I think…" she began, picking her words carefully. "That…you appreciate when a woman's legs are wrapped around you far too much to do such a…heinous crime to a pair of them."

Tony blinked, his features melting of their apprehension under both her fingers and words. "That's kinda sweet of you. Thanks. And I do, you know, like when—"

The hand that was imparting comfort reared back and slapped his cheek. Swiftly.

This time he did more than blink. His whole body jumped right out of her reach. "Ow! What the hell? It's like hot and cold with—"

"You need to stop making jokes like that, especially at a time like this. You also need to be patient. Gibbs will not let anything happen to you." Ziva took a breath, pinning him with her most earnest gaze. "And neither will I."

…

Tony was probing the inside of his cheek with his tongue, searching out internal damage, when the declaration registered—a cooling balm to her slap. "Yeah?"

The look on her face alone said she'd enjoy reversing the charges more than he'd enjoy the charges reversed. For the newest member of the team, she sure was proving herself loyal.

"With pleasure," was her promise before turning to leave. "Good-night, Tony."

"Hey, Ziva?"

The Israeli stopped half-in, half-out of the doorway.

Tony flopped back on his cot, a hand propped behind his head. "It really that bad for guys like me at Mossad?"

"Worse," she purred with a wink, and he saw her delicious smirk behind his eyelids until he fell asleep in what he was sure wouldn't be his cell for much longer.

 **fin**


End file.
